Requiem for the Green.

Someone has pruned the mango tree.
I don’t know how to feel.
Is nothing revered or special or beloved around here?
Is nothing held dear,
Not to be ripped up for progress?
Gone is the juicy, aromatic green and the velvet, midnight shadow,
That cooling shroud that enfolded us when the sun was a scorpion’s sting.
Now all’s bare papyrus limbs and a lone stag horn,
Its leafy plates withering.
I will pray for this tree and it might grow back, but it will not be the same.
I feel cheated.
This mango has been with me through him and the others,
And all my failed expectations.
It knew me when I was young and I never noticed,
But it was my witness.
I feel aggrieved.
Nothing is cherished here.
Every day they rip up green things,
With not a thought for these small, verdant lives,
With not prayer nor a mourner...
Except for me,
I will remember.